


want to lose to you

by redwolves



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Sexual Fantasy, Sparring, What Are Refractory Periods Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolves/pseuds/redwolves
Summary: A friendly spar gets a little out of hand.





	1. foreplay

**Author's Note:**

> based on a [tumblr request](https://diceyfall.tumblr.com/post/188154550819/id-love-to-see-anything-with-kurtmds-perhaps) by anonymous -- was about time i made tristan bottom for once lmao
> 
> tbh i was praying someone else would post more kurt/m!de sardet fics, especially smutty ones because there is only ONE fic of them on all of ao3 and it's T-rated, but seeing as how no one else is doing it!! guess i'll have to do it myself!!
> 
> chapter 2 will have the actual smut, but for now enjoy the frottage 👀

A drop of sweat rolls down the skin of Tristan’s neck, along the shape of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he all but swallows the air, sucking in his breaths with a heaving chest.

Kurt’s eyes are fixated on that one drop as it slides down his collar bone and disappears beneath his soaked shirt. “Are you done already?” 

Tristan wipes the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, the merciless sun of Teer Fradee burning high in the sky above them as they stand across from each other.

They’re the only ones left in the training area of the Coin Guard’s barracks in New Sérène, having had an audience before–mostly curious recruits and some appreciative officers who wanted to see Kurt in action–but after the first hour the two of them were left to their business.

“Hardly,” Tristan responds once he isn’t panting as hard, his sword still in hand as he straightens up, though Kurt’s last blow rattled up his arms and they feel a little weak.

They’re even now, tied with two losses and two wins each.

Tristan agreed to fight without any magic, which means he can’t complain if he ends up losing definitively, though the way Kurt is eyeing him up is giving him a few novel thoughts.

Not on how to win, but on how to enjoy his loss.

“Another round, then?” Kurt proposes, amusement in his eyes as he’s clearly trying to gauge how much farther he can push Tristan before he yields.

“Sure,” Tristan agrees, smiling lightly as the idea takes the shape of a plan in his mind. “How about hand-to-hand this time?”

“Won’t make a difference to me,” Kurt taunts as he puts his two-handed sword aside on the weapons rack, Tristan following suit and rolling up his sleeves in preparation as they stand across from each other once more, albeit at a smaller distance.

“I’ll give you the first hit,” Kurt offers, fists up in preparation. “Come on, then!”

Tristan imitates Kurt’s stance, hides his smile behind his hands, and launches himself forward.

He swings wide, fast and a miss as Kurt ducks the blow, kicks at his ankle and nearly makes Tristan trip. Tristan recovers quickly as he steps away, turning around to face Kurt again as they shift around each other.

“Poor footwork,” Kurt comments tauntingly. “I thought I trained you better than that.”

Tristan doesn’t reply, lunging at him again instead, almost the exact same way he did before. This time Kurt merely sidesteps him with a scoff and a shake of his head.

“You can do better than _that_,” he says, brows furrowed as suspicion dawns in his eyes. “What are you–”

Another wild swing, this one not even in the vicinity of reaching Kurt whose patience finally runs out, just as Tristan counted on. Kurt evades once more, circling around behind him and gripping Tristan’s wrist to pin it tightly against his back while an arm wraps around his neck, holding Tristan in place.

“What are you playing at?” Kurt speaks in a low tone against his ear, finishing his question from earlier as Tristan tenses up in anticipation.

His other hand is still free.

He lifts his elbow, knows that Kurt sees it coming but does it anyway because he isn’t quite where he wants to be yet–

Kurt releases his neck to catch his arm, pins his other wrist to his back as well as he kicks at his leg and works Tristan to the ground. Tristan hits the dirt, cheek pressed against it as Kurt holds him down with both hands behind his back, weight warm where he sits on top of Tristan’s thighs.

“That didn’t work out too well for you,” Kurt mocks, watching Tristan breathe hard below him for a moment before he leans down for a low murmur against Tristan’s hair. “Do you yield?”

Tristan quietly inhales, arches his back and angles his hips up–he feels Kurt freeze on top of him at the first press of Tristan’s ass against his groin, fingers tightening around Tristan’s wrists.

“Not yet,” Tristan breathes out, his smile slightly smug as he presses back against Kurt more firmly, rolls his hips a little and hears a quiet hum in Kurt’s throat.

“Keep going, then.” Kurt’s voice rumbles against his ear, his weight shifting to fit the line of his body against Tristan’s, the bulge in his trousers hard against Tristan who lets out a hot sigh as he rubs up against it shamelessly.

His reward is a deep groan smothered into his hair and an uncontrolled jerk from Kurt’s hips against Tristan’s, one that smooths out into a rhythm as Kurt’s lips latch onto his neck, drawing a pleased moan from Tristan’s lips. He closes his eyes, fixated on Kurt’s clothed erection grinding against his ass and this is a _terrible _idea because someone could walk out into the training area at any moment, yet the thought of it only spurs Tristan on.

“Are you that desperate for a fuck?” Kurt murmurs, tone rough in his throat, slightly breathless while Tristan matches the slow, dragging movements of his hips, feels his own cock aching in his trousers where it’s pressed against the hard ground. “If you wanted it this badly, you could’ve just told me.”

Tristan huffs a laugh that turns into a quiet hitch of breath when Kurt jerks his hips again, this time deliberately, a forceful thrust smacking against Tristan’s ass and reminding him of the way the bed shook beneath them two weeks ago–far too long a time to wait, and Tristan is well and truly at his limit.

“Fine.” He’s lost in a daze of heat and need both, sweat-soaked and thighs starting to tremble. “_Fuck me_.”

“Tristan,” Kurt growls in warning against his neck, nipping at the skin and any measure of self-control Tristan had left slips away from him.

“I’ll yield the fight,” he pants against the ground, continues to mindlessly rub his ass back onto Kurt even though Kurt has stilled, letting him move as his quiet but hot breaths fill Tristan’s ear, only heightening Tristan’s need for it. “If you fuck me right here, right now, I’ll yield.”

“You want it that much?”

“Yes,” Tristan groans. “You know how much I love your cock–”

“_Tristan_,” Kurt hisses, but Tristan keeps going.

“It fills me up so well,” he continues huskily, lucid enough to know exactly what he’s doing as Kurt breathes heavier, tenses on top of him like a bow pulled taut, on the verge of snapping. “I want it, Kurt, _please_. I want you to hold me down and fuck me, I want- _god_\- I want to feel you come inside me–”

Kurt curses and releases Tristan’s wrist, one hand grabbing at Tristan’s hip to lift it up higher, then circling around to the front of Tristan’s trousers and cupping his groin, palming at it, Tristan’s obscene moan smothered against Kurt’s other hand. He’s caught between Kurt’s fingers rubbing over his cock through his pants and Kurt’s own erection still grinding against his ass, and Tristan thinks fuzzily that he might actually come like this, spilling his seed in his pants as if he were sixteen years old again—

Kurt suddenly lifts off him and Tristan halts, flustered. He blinks dazedly at the sudden cold that hits his heated skin and turns his head to see where Kurt went, when moments later the door to the training grounds opens.

A few recruits come walking out, collectively pausing when they see the legate of the Merchant Congregation lying face first on the ground.

Slightly mortified, Tristan looks around for Kurt, spotting him off to the side casually standing by the weapons rack with his back turned, pretending to inspect his sword.

“Your Excellency?” a recruit speaks up hesitantly and Tristan laughs a little, feeling extremely awkward as he slowly lifts himself up, subtly un-tucking his shirt and hoping the length of it will hide the way his pants are tenting. Though erections are not exactly uncommon during physical exercise—blood flowing tends to do that—Tristan still feels mildly self-conscious with his lust tempered and his reason slowly returning to him.

“Don’t mind me,” he speaks in a lighthearted tone, glancing at Kurt who, aside from some redness in his face, looks entirely nonchalant. “We were just finishing up.”

The recruits give him strange looks but say nothing of it as they start their training, Tristan lingering to try and make himself look at least semi-presentable before he heads out when Kurt passes by him on the way to the door.

He halts beside Tristan, not looking at him as he says, _states_, “Tonight.”

Tristan licks his lips in anticipation.

“Tonight?”

Kurt meets his gaze, the look in his eyes making a shudder run up Tristan’s spine.

“I’ll make you yield to me tonight.”


	2. main course

Tristan returns to his residence long after the sun has set.

The building is quiet; a lone servant stoking the fireplace greets him when he enters through the front door. Tristan inquires nonchalantly after any arrivals while he was away, but the servant is unaware of anyone coming home before him.

Dismissing the servant, Tristan shrugs his coat off, putting it away before he heads up the stairs toward his bedroom.

_“I’ll make you yield to me tonight_.”

Tristan hasn’t seen Kurt since their encounter on the training grounds. The promise lingered in the back of his mind throughout the day, making it difficult to concentrate on the matters at hand when the phantom sensation of Kurt’s hips grinding against him still lingered on his skin.

Free to indulge in the memories now that he's in the privacy of his own home, Tristan slips into his bedroom and closes the door behind him to lean back against it, hand flying down to cup his dick through his trousers.

Exhaling deeply through his nose, he tips his head back against the door while palming himself, already semi-erect when he remembers the way Kurt groaned into his ear. How he grabbed at Tristan, trapping him between his hips and his hand, the weight of him and the barely-restrained strength in his muscles—Tristan bites into his bottom lip and quickly pops the button of his trousers open, slipping his hand in to pull out his hardened erection.

He pauses briefly, knowing he should wait for Kurt but his cock has already swelled in his hand and it’s begging for a touch. Thumbing at his sensitive head with a deep sigh, Tristan gives in.

Shoving his trousers and underwear down, Tristan curls his fingers more tightly around his shaft, eyes fluttering shut as he recalls the rhythmic rolls of Kurt’s hips against his ass, the lips and teeth on his neck, being pinned down on the ground while Kurt had his way with him.

He wants more of that. His wrist starts to move, the tip of his erection already beading with pre-cum, slicking down his fingers as Tristan mindlessly bucks his hips forward, pleasure distilled in every stroke of his hand. He needs Kurt to keep his promise, to make him yield, to make him fall apart.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Tristan finds himself on the verge of coming, but he’s been waiting all day and it has built up to the brink of bursting. Wrist twisting, hand squeezing, his fantasies slip out of his control now that he’s given himself over to them.

He imagines what would’ve happened if Kurt hadn’t stopped. If he’d yanked Tristan’s trousers off, holding him down while shoving inside of him, taking him raw, rutting into him, fucking him into the dirt as Tristan’s fingers dug into the ground, making him cry out with every thrust. 

Tristan’s chest heaves with his breaths as his hand speeds up, pumping his weeping cock faster as he visualizes it, panting from the exertion but unable to stop as the pressure builds and his mind takes the fantasy further. Kurt would’ve pounded him relentlessly, wouldn’t have stopped even when his fellow guards had walked in, and _god_, they would’ve watched as Tristan got fucked by Kurt, would’ve gotten off on it—

He comes with a cry, an eruption of heat and pleasure, entire body tensing as one hand flies to the doorknob to hold onto something as his fingers frantically move to squeeze every bit of cum out of his cock while it splatters all over his shirt, dripping down his fingers and onto his trousers. His hips jerk into his hand, thighs straining with the effort, going until he can’t anymore and he’s spent.

His orgasm leaves him sagging against the door, leaning heavily onto the wood as he somehow manages to keep upright. Tristan stays there for a while as he catches his breath, sweaty beneath his stained clothes; what an obscene sight he makes, trousers around his ankles and his spent cock still in hand.

Slowly blinking his eyes open, Tristan’s awareness eventually returns to him, prompting him to take care of this mess before anyone walks in to find him like this. He takes his shirt off, discarding it to the floor, kicking his shoes off as well before his pants follow, leaving him naked and slightly cold as the flush of heat recedes from his body.

Considering the sticky fluid still coating his fingers and his dick, Tristan intends to clean it off when the door he was leaning against suddenly opens behind him.

He would’ve fallen flat on his back were it not for the arms wrapping around his waist, catching him before he can fully tip over.

“Sounds like you were having fun,” Kurt murmurs into his ear and Tristan’s heart skips a beat, the red in his face that had been fading away returning in full force as Kurt’s hand slides down to run his fingers over Tristan’s softened shaft.

Tristan almost flinches at the touch on his skin, still oversensitive from his orgasm, but that doesn’t stop Kurt from taking it into his bare hand.

“H-how—” Tristan’s breath hitches and his spine tenses as Kurt thumbs at the head of his cock, spreading the leftover cum over his skin. “How- long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to feel left out,” Kurt replies darkly, fingers squeezing and Tristan gasps at the near-pain that shoots through him, so close to being agony with that edge of pleasure that still lingers.

He takes a steadying breath, a tease on his tongue, and though he should know better he can’t help but prod at Kurt, to see how far he can be pushed. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“You should have,” Kurt growls, teeth biting his earlobe and Tristan arches his back against him, pushes his ass back. Kurt’s hands grab at his hips, fingers bruising into his skin and he feels the lovely swell of Kurt’s cock through his trousers, just as hard as he was on the training grounds.

Tristan takes a chance, turning around in Kurt’s arms to face him. Kurt’s eyes are half-lidded, the blue in them pushed out by the black of his pupils that are blown wide, glazed over in an undisguised lust that’s reflected in the fingertips greedily clutching at Tristan’s hips, but he doesn’t move a muscle. He remains perfectly still as he watches Tristan, almost expectantly.

Leaning forward, Tristan’s lips brush against the corner of Kurt’s mouth in a not-quite-kiss, hand touching on Kurt’ broad chest. For once Kurt isn’t wearing his armor and is dressed only in a thin shirt and trousers, allowing Tristan to feel the muscle beneath his fingers, to map out Kurt’s hard lines and dips and the outline of his scars as Tristan slides his hand down to Kurt’s belt and passes it, going lower until he finds what he’s looking for.

“_Oh_,” Tristan breathes, arousal coiling tight, twining with pain into something delightful as he cups the bulge in Kurt’ pants more firmly and Kurt growls from deep within his throat, guttural and uncontrolled as he rocks his hips forward into Tristan’s hand. “You _really _want to_ fuck_ me—”

It’s as if a thread that was pulled taut finally snaps between them; Kurt spins him back around and shoves him against the wall beside the door, Tristan bracing himself against it with his forearms as a thrill of anticipation shoots through his gut.

Kurt’s fingers wrap around Tristan’s limp cock, a tight squeeze and then a stroke and Tristan’s entire body _jolts_, a pained whimper falling from his mouth even as he eagerly thrusts his hips into Kurt’s grip. The ache of it drags against the sensitive skin of his shaft, leaving him gasping as it clashes against the tendrils of pleasure twisting through him, slowly getting him hard again.

“H-holy—” The curse dies in Tristan’s mouth as Kurt continues to stroke him, languidly and slowly, making Tristan’s thighs tremble, Kurt’s arm around his waist the only thing anchoring him as the bursts of pain and ecstasy burn through him with every pump of Kurt’s wrist.

Kurt mouths his kisses along Tristan’s neck while his hips rub up against Tristan’s ass, the fabric of his trousers rough against Tristan’s skin, trapping Tristan again like he was pinned beneath Kurt on the training grounds before, but this burns so much brighter.

“You wanna come again?” Kurt asks in a low and husky tone, slightly breathless himself as he keeps a steady rhythm around Tristan’s cock, goes a little faster to make Tristan arch sharply, having him clawing at the wall as his erection _aches _like it has never done before but it’s so good, it’s _so good_—

“God, _yes_,” Tristan moans, hanging his head down to look at Kurt’s hand stroking him, can’t even thrust into his grip anymore, his whole body locked up with the sensation and Kurt pumps him faster, tighter, and Tristan heaves a dry sob as his fingernails dig into the wall. “I ca- I can’t- _don’t stop_—!”

When he comes a second time he doesn’t make a sound, lips parted in a silent cry and his eyes squeezed shut as Kurt keeps stroking him, burning it out of him until he _whimpers _and Kurt pulls his hand off him, both arms wrapped around him holding him steady against Kurt's chest. Tristan is reeling, barely aware of the small trickle of cum that drips down his shaft and onto the floor, breath ragged to the point of wheezing as he lets Kurt hold him up, tipping his head back to rest against Kurt’s shoulder.

“Do you yield?” 

Tristan pauses, eyes blinking open with a sudden clarity as the words sink in. It’s a genuine question. Kurt isn't touching him or rubbing up against him save for the arms around his waist; Tristan could end it here if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t want to.

He swallows thickly, inhaling deeply through his mouth for one last lungful of air before he speaks firmly, “No.” 

Kurt spins Tristan around to face him, bends down for his hands to grip at the back of Tristan’s thighs. Before Tristan has the chance to process what’s happening Kurt lifts him up, teeth digging into his neck. Tristan’s legs almost reflexively wrap around Kurt’s back as Kurt holds his weight up with ease while he walks—there’s friction between their hips, so utterly painful as Kurt sucks a bruise into Tristan’s skin, tearing a weak moan from his mouth.

“Kurt—”

The name has barely passed his lips when he feels Kurt’s grip tighten before Tristan is quite literally thrown onto the bed, back hitting the mattress and even then he doesn’t get a chance to breathe as Kurt is on top of him again immediately, tongue in his mouth, groaning against him like he’s on the edge of his restraint.

Kurt’s fingers are just as rough and hungry as his mouth is, sliding up Tristan’s abdomen to his chest to feel and rub over every inch of him as his lips find Tristan’s neck again and Tristan arches into him, aching, gasping, hating it, _loving it_.

“I’m- Kurt, I need—” He can barely speak anymore, Kurt’s weight bearing down on him pinning him against the bed as Tristan wraps his legs around Kurt’s hips, makes it hurt even better. Kurt hurriedly yanks his trousers down, taking his erection out to rub it against Tristan’s and it scorches him, seared into the back of his eyelids as he tilts his head back, voice breaking on a moan high in his throat. “God, oh _god_.”

“Will you—” Kurt groans through his words, a stutter in his hips, his thick cock leaking pre-cum that pools onto Tristan’s stomach. “_Fuck_, Tristan.”

“Make me yield,” Tristan gasps out, in pain and in need. Kurt goes still on top of him and Tristan is almost dizzied by the sudden reprieve when Kurt pushes up, hands rough on Tristan’s hips as he rolls Tristan over onto his stomach, hands digging into the bone, yanking Tristan closer.

Tristan tenses briefly in anticipation before he feels Kurt press his hips against his ass, feels Kurt’s shaft slide between his cheeks, spreading pre-cum over his skin and his oversensitive cock _throbs_ in pain beneath him even as he grinds back against Kurt—

Fingers grip tightly in his hair and yank Tristan’s head back, lips against his ear:

“Don’t move.”

Tristan’s teeth press into his lower lip as Kurt reaches for a pillow, tucking underneath Tristan’s hips to keep them raised. Tristan’s fingers dig into the sheets as Kurt continues to grind against him, breaths growing heavier, a growl in his throat that makes it so hard for Tristan to keep still, to not push back against him.

He presses his forehead into the mattress, a sheen of sweat on his skin and heat coiling tighter with every slide of Kurt’s dick against his ass, agony and bliss both. He hears a bottle popping open—when or how Kurt found the oil, he doesn’t know—and Tristan instinctively shifts his hips up higher, thighs spreading wider.

Kurt’s erection still rests on the curve of his ass when Tristan feels the oil drip on his skin and oh, this is cruel, the way Kurt keeps slowly rutting against him, taking the time to spread the oil while Tristan pants beneath him, feeling raw and yet still eager for more, insatiable in a way only Kurt can make him feel.

He hears Kurt hum, feels his fingers on his ass, parting his cheeks to slip a thumb in between and Tristan’s whole body trembles when he feels it rub over his puckered hole. It's slick with oil, making his muscles twitch before it's replaced by the tip of Kurt’s cock again, pressing against him but not hard enough to slip inside and it almost makes Tristan want to scream or cry or both.

“Do you yield?” Kurt asks again.

Tristan’s fingers clench into the bedsheets. “_No_.”

The head of Kurt’s cock pushes inside, a stretch and a burn and a relief that wipes his mind clean, leaving nothing but pain and pleasure and pain and pleasure, excruciating in a way that makes him want more.

So he takes it, every inch as it slides into him with a strained groan from Kurt’s mouth, filling him just like Tristan was begging for on the training grounds and it is hell and it is _heaven_.

Tristan can’t ease his body enough, makes it hurt even more and he buries his sob into the sheets below, eyes shut and ass pressing back onto Kurt’s dick as it slowly settles into him, up to the hilt while he shakes with it.

Kurt leans down over him, his hands curling around Tristan’s shoulders and the _noise_ Kurt makes as he presses down even harder, pushes in even deeper, ripped right out of his throat and making Tristan’s toes curl.

This is going to wreck him, Tristan knows, but he’s too far gone, reduced to a state of pure need and feeling, raw in a way he’s never been before and he wants to push it to the very edge, which is exactly what Kurt does.

He pulls out gradually, cock dragging out of Tristan’s insides slick with oil and pre-cum as he keeps a tight hold of Tristan’s shoulders. His breath is hot on the back of Tristan’s neck when he pushes back inside in one slow and smooth motion and it doesn’t burn any less, Tristan tight around him and breathing hard against the sheets, sweat running down his back as he tries not to tense up at the sheer size of Kurt inside him without any preparation.

“You got so quiet,” Kurt murmurs against Tristan’s skin as he slowly pulls out again, and just as Tristan sucks in some air Kurt snaps his hips forward, cock driving into him and Tristan loses all his breath again in a desperate cry, high and loud as it fills the room and Kurt’s lips are at his ear, growling, “That’s much better.”

Kurt sets the pace then and for the first few thrusts Tristan can't even formulate any thoughts, all his senses focused on the searing heat inside of him that rocks his whole body with every snap of Kurt’s hips, his low rumbling groans against Tristan’s ear and the slap of skin-on-skin the only noise he hears, not even aware of his own sobbing as the tears start to stream down his cheeks.

He’s getting hard again and it is a torture that he loves, forced out of him until there’s nothing left but that feeling, that need, and then Kurt’s cock angles just right and stars burst behind his eyes.

Tristan doesn’t even realize how loudly he has started to cry until his voice cracks, the weeping turning into whimpers as Kurt bites into his shoulder. Kurt’s harsh, sharp thrusts turn into slow, deep rutting that steadily hits Tristan’s prostate and Tristan can’t do anything but hang on, his erection caught between his stomach and the pillow, friction increasing when Kurt starts to fuck him harder.

It’s coiling tight, tighter inside of him and he can’t come, he wants it but he can’t, he can’t come, god, he’s going to _fucking pass out_—

“Shit,” Kurt hisses, thrusts growing more erratic, breath catching halfway through and he _moans_.

Tristan feels the stutter in Kurt’s hips, feels him drive forward one more time, as deep as he can as he comes inside of him, filling him with cum and Tristan wants to cry in sheer relief. He somehow finds the strength to push his hips back, trying to take Kurt even deeper even though he can’t go any more, and then his vision blacks out—he’s gone, gone, _gone._

It can barely be called an orgasm, not after the first two, a shudder through his muscles and a pathetic sob from his lips before it passes again. His whole body feels like an exposed nerve, on the verge of being sore, the tension drained out of him and leaving him boneless on the bed.

Tristan doesn’t know how long he stays there, not even aware of it when Kurt pulls out, but he’s already halfway drifting off into sleep when he feels a nudge against his shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, too tired to even lift a finger, Kurt gently removes the pillow from underneath him and turns him over onto his back. 

Tristan manages to open his eyes, looking up hazily at Kurt stretched out beside him and still fully dressed, save for his unbuttoned trousers.

“I yield,” Tristan sighs, and Kurt laughs, pulling him closer for Tristan to rest his head on Kurt’s chest.

“You don’t mind losing?” he says wryly, lazily brushing his fingers through Tristan’s hair. 

Tristan breathes out a smile, letting his eyes slip shut again.

“Not if it’s to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i really handwaved the shit out of refractory periods. this chapter was fun but also legit exhausting so i hope you enjoyed the fic lmao


End file.
